Forks in the Road of Time and Space
by ThisIsTrueImmortality
Summary: "Mycroft Holmes was ten years old when he first met The Doctor." Young Mycroft Holmes encounters a strange lifeform in his garden, and then he is rescued by an even stranger one. -A Wholock ficlet, with a twist. Also a companion piece to MortalCoil31's crossover fic Lions at the Door.
1. Frabjous Day

**Author's Note: A tidy little Wholock crossover for your entertainment. :) Please enjoy. **

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was ten years old when he first met The Doctor.

He had driven his mother half-mad with his loud complaints about his younger sibling. Sherlock had barrelled into Mycroft's room and had toppled the carefully constructed card house which had been Mycroft's pride and joy for the last two days. When Mycroft had leapt out of his chair in outrage, Sherlock had merely laughed and spread the cards out further on the table. Mycroft had screamed at Sherlock and told him to get out and stop _ruining everything._ Sherlock had promptly burst into tears.

Mummy had been very cross with Mycroft as she had come into his room and gathered Sherlock into her arms. She had been working at her dissertation and had given Mycroft strict orders to play nicely with his baby brother until lunch. "He's just a baby, Mycroft," she had said sternly, wiping at Sherlock's face to clear away the tears. "He is three years old and he does not understand why he can't play your big boy games."

"He's stupid," Mycroft had said, resentfully. Sherlock always got off the hook for destroying his things.

"No," Mummy had said, "he's simply not as developmentally advanced. He'll be a real playmate to you, soon. But, for now, you have to be understanding."

"You're stupid, too," Mycroft had muttered. "I'm _never_ going to play with Sherlock. He's a silly baby."

"That is quite enough of that, young man," Mummy had said sharply, standing with Sherlock balanced on her hip. "I have heard just about enough of your whining, today. Go outside and play until lunch."

Mycroft had miserably complied. The front garden was full of pleasantly tall, green grass and all kinds of plants and animals, but he had wanted to construct card houses all day, not run around outside. He had sulkily donned his sturdy 'explorer's boots' and had buttoned his rather chubby body into a macintosh with a huff of anger. The sky outside had looked ready to pour water down onto an unsuspecting boy's head, but Mycroft had refused to swing an umbrella from his arm while he play-acted in the garden. Mummy had always said that a little water never hurt an Englishman.

In the tradition of all intelligent children, Mycroft had quickly been distracted from his woes by fascinating flowers and bugs. He had taken out his magnifying glass and studied beetles up close. The beetles had been very obliging. One had even clung to Mycroft's macintosh and refused to leave. As the morning had wandered into noon, Mycroft had wandered farther from his house, leaving the garden proper in favor of the outer field. He had been thoroughly absorbed in his scientific endeavors until the threatening clouds above him had shown their true colors. Mycroft had only managed to flip up the hood of his coat before the bottom had dropped out of the sky. Rain in gigantic sheets had swamped the land.

Now, standing in the field, Mycroft peered about, trying to find his house in the blinding rain. He began to walk, trudging through the fast-appearing mud with a frown on his small face. Mummy would be so cross. She liked muddy boots about as much as she liked being called stupid.

A noise to his left made him turn his head. Mycroft looked carefully into the bushes, wondering if a lost cat could make such an odd, thrumming sound. The bushes didn't move, but the sound had definitely originated from that direction. When the noise began again, Mycroft stopped walking and called out, "Hello?"

There was no answer. On second thought, Mycroft reckoned that the sound was more akin to a hive of bees, and that bees couldn't talk. Still, he tried again. "Is there someone there?"

The noise fluctuated, humming louder and then dropping to a lower frequency. Mycroft's curiosity was piqued in the same instant as his fear instinct. Something was wrong with those bushes or, rather, what was inside them. He backed away slowly. The noise reached a new pitch. His heart began to race. As if in response, the humming increased. "Mummy," Mycroft whispered to himself, "I think there's something wrong with your hydrangeas."

Something burst out of the bushes. It was not a cat and it was definitely not bees. Mycroft didn't bother to get a very close look; all he knew was that it was bigger than him and it was clearly not human. He let out a shout and tore off in the opposite direction, slipping and sliding in the rain-slicked grass. The thing behind him released another series of hums and began to chase him. Mycroft knew his hunter had gotten closer when its humming drowned out the sound of his frantic respirations.

To Mycroft's unending dread, a second hum joined the first. Another creature had risen from behind Mummy's azalea hedge. Then, to make matters thrice as dire, a third creature slid out from the holly. Wheezing with effort, Mycroft put on extra speed. His first thought was: 'Go home! Go home! They can't get you in the house!' But, before he had even finished the thought, another came on its heels: 'Mummy and Sherlock are at home! Mummy's a girl, and Sherlock's a baby!'

As any proper Englishman would do, Mycroft ran away from where he suspected his house to be. His father had always told him not to put women and children in danger. He had to be a man, now, or risk hurting his family, and he was much too clever to let his fear get control of him. Still, he couldn't help the whimper as it passed his lips. He was ten years old, and he was going to be eaten by monsters.

He hoped Mummy would at least cry, when she found his body. _If_ she found his body, Mycroft corrected the thought morosely.

There was another wailing hum, and Mycroft thought his chest would burst from the breaths exploding from his lungs. This new noise was strident and not like bees at all. Then, quite suddenly, a shape began to materialize before him: a blue box the size of a garden shed. When the hum had faded, the blue box stood solid and impossible, directly in Myrcoft's path. The door swung open and a man leaned out.

"Hurry!" The man shouted, stretching out a hand as Mycroft dashed forward. "They're right behind you, lad! Run!"

"Can't-make-it," Mycroft gasped. "Too-fat! Monsters-win!"

"Rubbish!" The man jumped out of his box and surged toward Mycroft. He overtook the boy easily and grabbed him under his armpits, swinging him into his wiry arms. "The monsters will never win, as long as you keep fighting," the man told Mycroft. Mycroft clutched tightly to his leather jacket and fought not to throw up all over his savior.

The humming noise behind them grew to a frantic pitch, but the blue box was within reach. The man threw Mycroft unceremoniously through the doorway and slammed the door just as the humming creatures rushed toward it. Mycroft lay flat on the floor, trying not to cry as his terror overwhelmed him. "Monsters are in my garden," he said, still panting. "Wait!" He sat up. "Mummy and Sherlock are still at home! They'll be eaten!"

"No," the man said, "the Onkaku are psychic receptive and can only hunt their prey in open spaces without doorways. Your house has a threshold. They can't cross it without being invited in, and your mum is likely too smart to let an alien into her parlor."

Mycroft squeezed the tears from his eyes. "Aliens aren't real," he said, his voice trembling. "Daddy proved it to me, scientifically. There are journals about this sort of thing."

"What do you call those great, humming monsters, then?" The man asked, with a laugh. "Come on, lad, up you get. Welcome to the TARDIS, by the way."

Mycroft sat up. His jaw dropped open as he gazed around him. The blue box had somehow become huge on the inside, and its interior was filled with soaring support beams and a large center console. To Mycroft, it looked like one of the scenes from the science fiction shows Mummy sometimes watched on television. The man who had saved him from the monsters looked rather out of place in such a magnificent setting: his black trousers, black leather jacket, and dark purple shirt looked as normal as Mycroft's macintosh and boots.

"This blue box," Mycroft said, somehow finding his voice, "what is it?"

"I told you," the man said, "it's the TARDIS."

"That's not a proper name."

"That's because it's an acronym." The man tilted his head. "You do know what an acronym is, don't you?"

"Of course," Mycroft said stiffly. "I'm not stupid. What does it stand for?"

"Time and Relative Dimension in Space," the man answered, with a large smile. "This is my space-and-time machine. I can take myself to any place, at any time, which is how I saved you from your garden variety aliens."

"A time machine!" Mycroft forgot all about his fear as he stood, gazing at the TARDIS. He walked to the center console. The many buttons and levers across its curved surface were unlike any of the aeroplane or boat control panels that he had ever studied. "It's impossible!"

"Nope," the man said cheerily, "it's only impossible for humans, and I'm not a human!" He strode over to the far side of the console and flicked several switches. His hands reached out to pull at cables or to pound on buttons. The console beeped accordingly.

Mycroft processed the man's statement and felt a moment's unease. "You're an alien, too, then?" He said, uncertainly.

"'Course I'm an alien," the man said, looking up from his task and fixing his blue eyes on his young companion. "Do you know of any humans with a time-and-space machine?"

"I don't know," Mycroft answered, "I've heard the Russians have got lots of space technology." He frowned suspiciously at his savior. "How do I know you're not going to kidnap me? What if you're going to sell me off to another alien?" He gulped and backed up to the wall of the TARDIS. "Are you going to take me to an alien butcher's shop? Do you eat humans?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the man said. "If I was going to kidnap you, I'd put you in handcuffs, wouldn't I, so you couldn't escape? And if I was going to sell you to a butcher or eat you, I'd have picked a much less chubby boy, wouldn't I? You're not good eating by anyone but an Onkaku's standards."

Mycroft considered this answer for a moment, then reasoned that the man must be telling the truth. He wasn't a good choice for a hearty meal; he was not very muscular and he had a large middle. This man looked much too cunning to pick the wrong dinner. Even though the man's words made sense to Mycroft, he remained as far away as possible, staring warily at this new-found alien.

The man seemed to know about Mycroft's doubts. His hard-planed face softened somewhat. He left the console and came to crouch in front of Mycroft. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently. "I don't like hurting anyone, believe me. I'm a decent sort of alien to know. I've even got tea, and it's regular, old English tea. Would you like some?"

Mycroft looked hard into the man's eyes and saw kindness there, along with loneliness. He was suddenly reminded of an old soldier that lived near his home who would always take a walk around dusk, stumping through the town with his cane. Mummy had never tolerated any rude questions about the soldier and had told Mycroft that the reason the soldier looked frightening was because he had seen very sad things at war and he had no one at home to talk to.

Mycroft wondered if this alien had seen terrible things and was all alone, too.

"Just regular tea," Mycroft repeated, and the alien nodded. "You haven't tampered with it in any way?"

"Who could spoil earl grey with alien modifications?" The man asked in horror. "That would be a sacrilege!"

As the man winked at him, Mycroft smiled timidly and offered his hand. "I'm Mycroft Holmes," he said, as the alien took his hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Mycroft," the man said. "I'm The Doctor."


	2. Cabbages and Kings

After their tea interlude, Mycroft spent several hours romping through the TARDIS. The Doctor had given him permission to explore, with the proviso that he not touch anything that looked dangerous and/or breakable. When Mycroft had asked where The Doctor planned to travel next, he had asked, with a startled look, "Would you like to go with me?"

Mycroft had answered with a puzzled, "Of course. As long as it's not too dangerous."

The Doctor had smiled. "It won't be. But, as to where we're going, you'll just have to wait and see. Now, go on, I've got to fix these stabilizers."

Mycroft, being a very conscientious person, did his best not to make too much noise or to handle any of the wonderfully intriguing yet certainly dangerous/breakable things inside the vast rooms of the TARDIS. He did leave his macintosh on a bizarre coat tree in a room filled with clothes. He was tempted to take a friendly-looking bowler hat off of a shelf and wear it around, but he thought that Mummy would scold him for his rudeness if she knew. He walked down long corridors and peeked into chambers with lab equipment and musical instruments. He even found a council estate-sized pool placed between a broom closet and an ornate, French court-style bedroom.

Mycroft discovered his very favorite room after what seemed like hours of walking. It was of medium size and contained thousands of books. His eyes opened wide like saucers as he entered the library, enamored with the sleek steel shelves and the party-colored spines of books. He noticed several shelves full of odd, slender cases that contained round items that resembled records, but since he had no idea what those could possibly be, he paid more attention to the books.

He found some of his favorites: _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_, _Treasure Island_, _Grey's Anatomy_, and even_ Alice in Wonderland_. The editions The Doctor had were illustrated and leather-bound, and Mycroft was instantly jealous. He set those copies aside and dove into unfamiliar territory. He spent two hours in the library without realising it. He was much too busy trying to figure out what _A Guide to Trans-temporal Transmogrification_ could be.

He was engrossed in _Tales from The Fields of Isolation_ when The Doctor walked in. Mycroft jumped up and placed the book back on the shelf with a guilty shove. "It's all right," The Doctor said, "I don't mind if you touch the books. They're certainy not breakable or dangerous-or I suppose you could say, they're the good kind of dangerous. Now," he clasped his hands together, "you asked me where we were going next, Mycroft."

"Yes, Doctor," Mycroft said, pulling _Tales_ back off the shelf.

"I thought we might have a look at some of your planet's ancient history! Ever fancy going back to the Greek times?"

Mycroft thought for a moment. He recalled the many lessons his tutor had given him on ancient Greek history. He had also watched several documentaries about Greek art and politics. He found it all very exciting, but also very grown-up. Sometimes it bored him, especially when he had to attend lessons when all he wanted was to go outside.

"Will we have to wear those window drapes, like in all the pictures?" Mycroft eventually asked.

The Doctor laughed, and the sound put Mycroft more at ease than he had been all day. "No, no window-drape robes," he said, then steered Mycroft from the library. "We're not going to see the philosophers or the politicians, Mycroft, although those blokes had their place. I think you've an idea about that sort of man, already."

Mycroft picked up his feet to keep up as The Doctor swept along the TARDIS's corridors with unconscious knowledge. "What do you mean, Doctor? Aren't those-the most-important blo-I mean, men? Weren't they-in charge?" Mycroft puffed, hoping his new-found mentor couldn't hear the wheeze in his voice.

The Doctor, after assessing the chubby boy's flagging pace, reached backwards and grabbed Mycroft by the hand, tugging him along. He did not slow down; he merely forced Mycroft to keep pace. "It's not always about being in charge, Mycroft. It's about doing what you can, where you can, and for something that truly matters."

"Right," Mycroft said, unwilling to admit he had no idea what The Doctor meant.

The Doctor moved his young companion in front of him as they entered the main console room. Mycroft staggered forward and sat down on the floor, clutching his book to his chest. "With just a few minor course adjustments," The Doctor muttered, throwing switches with wild abandon, "and seven hundred years' difference-no, make that a thousand years' difference-hang on..."

The TARDIS jolted and rocked. Mycroft toppled over onto his back. He clung to the book, determined not to let it spill onto the grating. With a satisfied hum, The Doctor locked a lever into place and bounced over to haul Mycroft off the floor. "Mycroft Holmes," he said grandly, "you are going to be the only boy in the history of England to witness the Battle of Thermopylae firsthand." He smiled at Mycroft's astonished look. "How's that for a bit of excitment?"

* * *

"The Spartans were renowned all over Greece for their skills in battle," The Doctor told Mycroft, as they climbed a rocky hill in near-darkness. Greece was apparently not a welcoming countryside in ancient times: Mycroft had to watch his feet constantly for fear of pitching head over heels off the side of a cliff. The early morning aura did nothing to improve his chances. "When they were only seven years old, Spartan boys would go off to be trained for war," The Doctor continued, and calmly put out a hand to prevent Mycroft from tumbling over the edge of the hill. "That means you would already be three years into your life's work as a warrior, were you a Spartan."

"And how far along would you be, Doctor, if you were a Spartan?" asked Mycroft, clutching the older man's arm as he wobbled in place.

"Me?" The Doctor shook his head. "If I were a human, I'd be dead. Spartan men only lived to be, oh, thirty-eight years old. It was a hard life: trained for war, raised in harsh conditions, and prepared to fight to the death at a moment's notice. The Spartans were proud and fierce, and they lived separately from the other Greek cities. Their way of life was quite different from Athens, or Corinth. They believed in discipline and scorned the finer things in life."

"They sound a bit English," Mycroft said.

The Doctor laughed. "I suppose they do, or a bit Scottish, perhaps. But, the reason we came here is to see three hundred Spartans do what they did best."

Mycroft followed behind The Doctor as he walked onwards, but he still nearly tripped over another rock. "What's that?"

"Be proud and fierce, of course!" The Doctor said. "Aren't you paying attention?"

"Sorry, but I'm about to fall off a cliff. It's a bit taxing to my brain."

"Children these days," The Doctor muttered. "All you do all day is sit in front of the telly and eat crisps. I'm taking you to see one of the most well-known moments of your planet's history, and you complain about the walk."

Mycroft immediately felt ashamed of himself. He was a fat and lazy boy who liked his crisps as much as he liked the nature programs on telly, but to hear the truth from The Doctor's mouth hurt more than if his mother had said it. The Doctor was the most fascinating person Mycroft had ever met, and to be embarrassed in front of him was worse than getting a smack on the rear from Mummy.

"I don't mind the walk," Mycroft said, picking up his pace. "I want to see the battle! I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm just a bit slow and fat, but I'll catch up! I'm clever!"

The Doctor looked down at Mycroft in consternation. "Who ever told you that you're slow and fat? You're ten years old! It's no wonder you like crisps and telly and turkish delight and the horrible toxins you humans ingest! _I'm_ not calling you slow and fat! I'm calling you lazy and inattentive! And I _know _you're clever-do you really think I'd have brought a dull boy out here?"

"I don't know," Mycroft said, but his chest suddenly warmed at The Doctor's explanation.

"Now, do pay more attention, Holmes," The Doctor said, but his hand on Mycroft's shoulder negated his stern attitude. "The Battle of Thermopylae wasn't all that one-sided, despite the fact that the Persians outnumbered the Greeks by about sixteen to one. Can you imagine that: knowing that for every one of your friends, there were sixteen enemies coming to attack you? Not good odds, those." Mycroft nodded fervently and The Doctor continued. "Well, the Greeks didn't let those numbers stop them. They decided to fight the Persians at the pass of Thermopylae. They knew that a small bit of land would force the Persians to come at them in smaller numbers. Their plan worked like a charm. Beating the odds, the Greeks were holding their own for days. But, then, as in all great battles, there was one flaw that ruined the whole setup. Can you guess what happened?"

Mycroft thought for a moment as they traveled farther along the cliffs. The breeze tugged at his face and hair, but he ignored the feeling as he considered The Doctor's question. What thing could ruin all good plans? What could alter a battle's outcome with just one minor change? Mycroft figured 'a short cut' was a good guess. "Did the Persians find some way to climb over these mountains and into the pass?" He ventured at last.

"You've nearly got it," The Doctor said. "The reason the Persians eventually got an advantage over the Greeks was because a traitor gave them a secret that only a Greek would know. He told them about a little-known path through the hills that would take the enemy into the Greek camp and overwhelm them."

"A traitor!" Mycroft spat. "I might have known!"

The Doctor nodded grimly. "Remember that, Mycroft: in every conflict, there's always a traitor. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do. There's always going to be someone who isn't satisfied with his lot in life and decides the easiest way to make it better is to betray his friends and family. Sometimes it's for money, sometimes it's for safety, or sometimes it's because the person believes it's the right thing to do. But, no matter what, the fact remains: traitors will change the course of a fight, one way or another."

"Who betrayed the Greeks?" Mycroft asked keenly, his blood boiling.

"It doesn't matter." The Doctor stopped a moment to tie the lace on his boot. When he was finished, he looked Mycroft in the eye and said, "We're not here to see the traitor. We're here to see the men he betrayed. They're the important ones."

"The Spartans." Mycroft bounced a little as they went on their way. "They were the brave ones!"

"Yes, they were, but they also died," The Doctor said. "All three hundred Spartan warriors are going to die, here, tonight. So, be prepared, lad."

Mycroft's feet skid as he diverted his mental energy into envisioning the battle he was about to witness. Despite the fact that he was a genius in every practical sense, he was still ten years old, with a ten year old's emotional development. His mind slid around the concept of the death of three hundred men like a bar of soap in an empty bathtub. He simply couldn't picture that level of violence. "Doctor," he said, hesitantly, "will we be safe, here on the mountain? No one's going to see us, are they?"

"No one will even know we were here," The Doctor said. Mycroft noticed the flatness in his voice, but he didn't ask about the sudden change.

"All right." Mycroft focused on his feet and hands once again.

Before the boy knew what was happening, they had arrived at an outcropping high above ground level. The pass of Thermopylae lay sheltered between the mountains, and it was much bigger than Mycroft had anticipated. Spread out below them, shimmering with scattered torchlight, were two distinct camps. One camp, further away to the north, stretched out beyond Mycroft's line of sight and was as wide as the pass itself. Such a great host could only be the Persian army, Mycroft reckoned. The second camp, a smaller and thinner line on the ground, lay beyond the narrow pass. That camp belonged to the Greeks, or so Mycroft guessed. When he asked, The Doctor confirmed his assumptions.

"We're so far away, I can hardly see anything," Mycroft said, after they had discussed the armies' situations in detail.

"Yes," The Doctor said, clearing his throat, "that is rather the idea. I brought you to see a great moment of human history, but I don't really fancy giving a child post-traumatic stress disorder, if it's all the same to you."

"What's that?"

"Never you mind. You don't have it."

"It's a disease, then? Is it like ebola? I've read all about that, Daddy gets National Geographic."

"I said never you mind, you morbid boy." The Doctor sighed. "I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea, bringing you here. How on earth did you talk me into this?"

"Sorry?" Mycroft said, rather indignantly. "I didn't talk you into this, Doctor! You told me this is where we were going, remember?"

The Doctor cast him a heavy-laden glance and made a non-committal noise, then he reached into his coat and pulled out a set of what looked like ordinary field glasses. However, once The Doctor twisted the end of the eyepieces, the lenses on the glasses began to emit a milky blue light. "These are military-grade, vintage Reustan binoculars. They can magnify images up to seven hundred thousand times their original size, in high-defintion. I will let you use them, on the condition that you give them back as soon as I ask for them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Mycroft said. He took the glasses and put them to his eyes. His breath caught: the faint torchlight he had seen moments before flared to life in the lenses of the binoculars almost as though it burned right in front of his face. He started when a large shadow crossed in front of one of the torches. It took Mycroft a moment to realize that the shadow was a man who had stepped inside one of the tents on the Greek side of the battlefield.

"We are half an hour from the moment at which the Greek betrayer brings the Persian force into the Greek army," The Doctor said. "He's been in conference with the Persian commanders for a couple hours. The Greeks don't suspect a thing."

Mycroft moved the binoculars around to several places in the Greek camp. Men kept watch around the perimeter while others slept in tents. Some men slept out in the open around unlit firepits. Try as he might, Mycroft could not tell a Spartan from another Greek on sight. He thought they might be the men with the large, plumed helmets. "Why did only the Spartans die?" Mycroft asked. "There's more than three hundred men down there."

The Doctor moved to sit on his haunches next to Mycroft as he lay on his stomach, the binoculars in his hands. "When they realized they had been betrayed, the Greeks knew they would all be slaughtered. King Leonidas told the other Greeks to run. He and his men stayed and fought the Persians." He looked out over the scenery. "Just wait; you'll see it all very soon."

The Doctor was right. Mycroft was so busy watching individual men through his binoculars that he was brought up short when, suddenly, there was an outcry from behind the tents. A flood of Persian soldiers poured into the Greek camp, surrounding the Greeks as they scrambled for their weapons. The Persians continued to fill the pass, cutting off any hope of escape for most of the Greek army. Mycroft swallowed as the cries of battle rose over the countryside. The Doctor was a still presence beside him, uncharacteristically silent.

One figure rose above the masses and screamed a short phrase. His elaborate plumed helmet marked him as a Spartan. When Mycroft looked to The Doctor for explanation, he said, "That's King Leonidas. He's telling the other Greeks to take their men and forge an escape through the pass. His soldiers have agreed to follow him to death, and they're going to hold off the Persians so the other Greeks can go back and save their cities." When Mycroft made to look through the binoculars, The Doctor stretched out a hand. "I'll be having those back, now, Mycroft."

Reluctantly, Mycroft surrendered the field glasses and watched the battle with his naked eyes. As King Leonidas jumped back into the fray, the other Greek soldiers raised their voices into a deafening roar and began to move in one direction, driving the Persians from their path. The Spartans rushed to fill the gap made by their fellow departing Greeks.

Mycroft was in awe: the Spartans' spears flashed as fast as lightning and their swords whipped back and forth like electrical impulses on a circuit board. They were a well-oiled machine, an army born and bred to work together. Each soldier acted as a gear or a wire, never failing to do his proper job for the greater whole until he was sabotaged by an enemy. Little by little, the machine shrank, hemmed in by the Persians. Mycroft thought he could see the long, bright plumage of King Leonidas's helmet in the center of the melee, whipping back and forth as its owner wreaked havoc on his opponents.

Mycroft took a moment to stare at the battefield, and immediately wished he hadn't. Bodies stretched from one end of Thermopylae to the other. Some had spears stuck into them. Others were quite clearly missing pieces. He swallowed, feeling his lunch rise into the back of his throat. "Doctor, I'm going to be sick," he said, and his voice came out far calmer than he felt.

"No, you won't," The Doctor said. "You're a smart one, Mycroft. You know that this is war. It's not pretty, and it's certainly not as grand as your army recruiters make it sound. But, it's necessary, sometimes." When Mycroft looked at The Doctor, he saw that his guardian's face was darkened by memory. "Go on," The Doctor said, "watch the end. Then, I'll take you back to the TARDIS."

The Spartans had lost over half their force when Mycroft turned his attention back to their battle. As he watched, more fell against the onslaught of the Persians. He was not sure how much time had passed, but the battle seemed to go on forever, until a group of Persians took up positions all around the pass. To Mycroft's horror, they lifted weapons that could only be bows and released a volley of deadly arrows into the ranks of the Spartans. With the first volley, half the army fell. With the second, no Spartans remained standing.

"No!" Mycroft cried, forgetting himself. He jumped to his feet and screamed, "It's not fair! That's not fair! They were outnumbered and they saved all those other men! They shoudn't have died!"

"Shhh," The Doctor said, pulling Mycroft into the shadow of an outcropping. "We can't let the Persians hear us."

Mycroft pushed The Doctor's hand off his shoulder. "Doctor, you've got a space-and-time machine! You can go back and save the Spartans!"

"No, I can't. Some things are meant to be, Mycroft."

"Rubbish!" Mycroft yelled. "If you're clever and you've got the proper technology, you can solve any problem! That's what humans do!"

"Oh, yes?" The Doctor's voice was not sharp, as it might have been. He spoke gently. "Then why do humans still go hungry? Why do humans die of diseases? Not everything can be solved with cleverness and computers, Mycroft. Not even Time Lords can fix all the problems of the universe, and we've tried very hard."

"But, why are we clever, then?" Mycroft demanded, humiliated by the tears on his cheeks. "I don't want to be clever if I can't save the world. All being clever does is hurt me, Doctor. I understand that all those Spartans just died, and a stupid person wouldn't. Why did you bring a clever person here?"

"Clever people do save the world," The Doctor said firmly, covering Mycroft's cheeks with his thumbs to wipe away the tears. "If they're a good clever person, they do what King Leonidas did and use that cleverness to others' advantage. They realize that they can't fix every problem, and they accept that. Then they do their best to change what they can. King Leonidas knew he was going to die, Mycroft, but he made the decision to clear out everyone he could save. He was a great leader, but only because he was courageous, not clever. He sacrificed himself and his men for all of Greece."

Mycroft couldn't stop crying. He let The Doctor pull him into his arms and carry him over the mountain. His superior mind churned with thoughts much too old for his age, and each thought brought a sharp pain to his chest. He hiccupped and said, "I don't know if I can be clever and courageous, Doctor. It hurts so much."

"I know, Mycroft." The Doctor's voice caught for a moment. "I know."

After a moment, Mycroft settled his head against The Doctor's collarbone. He thought he could hear a strange double rhythm in his ears, but he ignored it in favor of thinking how to word his next question. "Doctor," he finally said, hesitantly, "when did you realize that you couldn't fix everything? Did you have to wait until you were a grown-up?"

The Doctor didn't answer for a while, and Mycroft was sure he had crossed a line that had pushed his guardian to anger. Then, The Doctor said, "I was very old when I knew that not every problem could be solved. I was around eight hundred and ninety, although particular age doesn't matter. I was in a war very much like your World War Two-it was a war to end all wars, to be certain. For a while, we Time Lords thought, 'Oh, sure, we have nothing to fear from this war. We're invincible.'" The Doctor snorted quietly. "Here's a word of advice, Mycroft: if anyone ever tells you they're invincible, you can tell them about the Time Lords."

"Why?" Mycroft whispered. "What happened?"

The TARDIS was mere footsteps away. The Doctor set Mycroft down and held his shoulders. Their eyes met. "One Time Lord, a clever, clever Time Lord, had to do a very terrible thing," The Doctor said, his voice tight. "He knew he had to kill all the Time Lords' enemies, but he couldn't do that without killing all the Time Lords, too. What do you think he did?"

Mycroft took in a shocked breath. "He...he killed everyone?"

The Doctor's eyes were overbright. "Yes."

From his previous statements, Mycroft knew The Doctor was a Time Lord. He also knew, from this present conversation, that there must only be the one clever, clever Time Lord left-the one who had been forced to use his cleverness to make a terrible choice, just as King Leonidas did. Even though his heart still ached from watching three hundred Spartans die, the boy did what his own clever mind dictated: he placed his hand on The Doctor's shoulder.

"Then that Time Lord must have had a lot of courage, just like King Leonidas," Mycroft said seriously. "I think he was very brave."

The Doctor gave a wobbly laugh, then stood. "You are an extraordinary human, Mycroft Holmes. I'm so glad you weren't eaten by aliens."

"Thanks to you, Doctor," Mycroft said, with a smile. "And thank you for taking me to see the three hundred. I'll remember it always."

"You had better." The Doctor smiled in return, then turned and gestured toward the TARDIS. "Back on board, then. We've got time for some tea, some sleep, and two more adventures before I leave you back on your mum's doorstep."


	3. Uncommon Nonsense

"I'd like to know how the TARDIS is operated," Mycroft announced to the room at large.

He had been onboard for a whole forty-eight hours. After Thermopylae, he and The Doctor had shared some tea and biscuits, then he had been sent to bed for a long night's rest. He had lain awake for all of ten minutes before falling into exhausted sleep, then a blaring horn had jolted him awake nine hours later. The Doctor had been up at repairs for who knew how long, but he hadn't bothered Mycroft as the boy shuffled around making breakfast. Mycroft had wolfed down breakfast and shot off to the library to absorb as much alien information as possible.

Now, Mycroft sat on the floor grille near the console, a book full of outer space mechanical schematics in his hand. He was keeping The Doctor company while he carried out repairs.

Burrowed deep into the wiring beneath the console, The Doctor popped his head up to give Mycroft a strange look. "I don't make it a habit to teach my companions how to drive," he said. "They might decide they're better off with the TARDIS and without me."

"But, what if you get injured or sick?" Mycroft pointed out. "I would be all alone and we'd be stuck. I might not ever get home."

The Doctor chuckled, but Mycroft thought the sound was a bit false. "That's not going to happen, Mycroft. I'm always all right."

"I still want to know," Mycroft persisted, setting aside his book. "I've taken apart an automobile motor, and I was going to start on a boat, before the aliens attacked. Won't you show me, Doctor?"

The Doctor brushed some dust off his face, then sank back under the console. "I'll think about it," he said.

"Please, Doctor?" Mycroft sensed weakness in an adult and, like any clever child, pounced. "Please? I promise, I'll be very careful! Please?"

"I said, I'll think about it!" Was the response. "Now, don't bother me while I'm fusing these internal circuit enhancers. These are very expensive."

"Yes, Doctor." Mycroft knew when to retreat. He picked up his book again and patiently read while The Doctor fiddled at the TARDIS's inner body. When Mycroft was hungry enough to stop reading, he went to the tiny kitchen he had found the night before and made a chicken and pickle sandwich. He added a pile of crisps to his plate and scrounged up a ginger beer. He felt very grown up, with his ginger beer can: Mummy said the sugar was bad for boys, so he only got to drink one every half a year or so. It didn't surprise Mycroft in the least that The Doctor had ginger beer by the case in the compact refrigerator in the tiny kitchen. The Doctor was the most grown up of grown ups, after all.

"Mycroft?" The Doctor's voice echoed down the corridor.

Mycroft stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and swallowed it. "I'm here, Doctor, in the kitchen."

"Ah." The Doctor's head popped around the side of the doorway, his blue eyes alight with humor. "I keep forgetting to feed you. Luckily, I picked up one old enough not to starve on his own."

"Food is one of my favorite things," Mycroft said, then added slyly, "rather like learning how to operate things is one of my favorite hobbies..."

"Oi, now, I'm not that stupid," The Doctor said, taking a seat at the chessboard-sized table. He reached over and took Mycroft's ginger beer, putting his own lips to it and taking a swig. "I'll let you have another," he said, in response to Mycroft's indignant look. "Repairing a TARDIS is hard work. I do get rather thirsty."

"Well, I wouldn't know how difficult it was," Mycroft pointed out none too subtlely. "I don't know how it works, you see, so I can't properly appreciate your cleverness, Doctor."

"Mm," was the less than promising reply. The Doctor chuckled and laid a hand on Mycroft's head. "Someday, Mycroft, you'll be a silver-tongued politician and have the whole of Great Britain saying, 'I wonder what he meant by that?'. I can see it now. Then, I might have to worry about you. But, right now, you can't fool me; I know exactly what you're trying to do."

Mycroft pouted for a moment. He liked being clever, and The Doctor took that feeling away so easily. Not even Mummy and Daddy presented much of a challenge when he really wanted to persuade them. Although, on reflection, Mycroft wondered if that was due to his skill with words or to their obvious fondness for him. He was thrown into a moment of self-doubt.

"I've been thinking about what you said," The Doctor continued, ruffing his hair gently before withdrawing his hand, "and I think that, just this once, I can make an exception. I'll show you how to operate the TARDIS." He held up a finger at Mycroft's excited exclamation. "But, there is going to be an agreement between us, first."

"All right, all right," Mycroft said quickly, "I agree, Doctor!"

"No," The Doctor said firmly, "you have to listen to me, Mycroft!" The inflection of the older man's voice somehow rendered Mycroft unable to verbally respond, but he nodded. "The TARDIS is a very powerful force in the universe. It is not to be touched by you or anyone else without my express permission unless your life, my life, or another companion's life is in imminent danger and I am not able to operate the machine myself. You can also operate it with my order if the world's about to end and I'm somewhere else at the time." He paused a moment, face screwed up in thought. "Hold on, do you know what 'imminent' means?"

"Something that's about to happen very soon, almost instantly," Myrcoft rattled off impatiently. "You don't want me to touch the console unless I have no other choice, right, Doctor?"

The Doctor smiled grimly. "Correct, you clever boy. Again: you're not to so much as pull the parking lever unless I say so, and I had better be on the floor, bleeding. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Myrcoft said. He wiggled a little in his seat. Despite the restrictions, the fact remained that he was about to be the first boy in all of England who could drive a time-and-space machine.

"Well, then," The Doctor said calmly, slipping out of his seat, "finish your crisps and we'll get to work. Shouldn't take us but a few hours for you to learn the basics. And, don't think I'm teaching you everthing-no human needs to know how to override the biological modifiers. I don't care how desperate the situation is, that is not going to happen."

Mycroft had never eaten a plate of crisps so fast in his life, and he never would again.

The Doctor had been right. The initial learning session took four hours. By the time his guardian concluded their lesson, Mycroft's head felt as though it was padded with wool stuffing. His eyeballs felt too large for their sockets and his hands were sore from pressing buttons and gripping levers. The Doctor did remember to feed him, this time: he brought the boy an exotic form of spaghetti bolognaise with a tall glass of milk. Mycroft poked at the orange, octopus-shaped meat slices with exhausted curiosity. The Doctor didn't reprimand him for playing with his food, and he also didn't complain when his young companion fell alseep on the console room floor with his head pillowed on the old alien's shoulder. He did grumble a bit when the milk got on his jeans.

Mycroft was awoken by the same blaring claxon that had greeted him the previous morning. He jumped out of bed, performed his usual ritual, and dashed into the TARDIS corridors. He hardly stopped to eat a hefty bowl of cereal before charging into the console room, shouting, "I'm ready to learn more, Doctor! I remember everything you told me yesterday, and I've got it! I think I can disengage the brake and trigger the beginning sequence!"

It took Mycroft several moments to realize that The Doctor was not, in fact, in the console room at all. His brow furrowed. Being advanced for his age didn't stop him from doing what any ten-year-old boy would do when missing his guardian: he went looking for him, occasionally yelling, "Doctor?" into random rooms as he went through the halls.

The TARDIS was hopelessly vast, Mycroft had not had his usual large breakfast, and he found himself fatigued very quickly. He puffed his way back to the console room by sheer mental power, recalling the correct turns purely from memory. Since boy scouts were simply out of the question for someone as brilliant as Mycroft, Daddy had always made sure that he didn't miss out. He could read a map and orient himself according to north, south, east, and west. He could also build a fire and skin a rabbit, but those skills had not come in handy, as yet, and map reading had.

When Mycroft made it back to the console room, The Doctor was already there. "There you are," the alien said, looking up from a small object in his hands. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost. It happens to companions, sometimes."

"Do you always find them?"

"The TARDIS will put you to rights, eventually," The Doctor said. "Now, then, Mycroft, let's begin your second lesson."

The Doctor revealed the identity of the object in his hand. Before Mycroft's awestruck eyes, it unlocked and, when inserted into a certain space on the console's surface, turned the entire control room into an interactive schematic of the TARDIS. The console, floor, walls, and surrounding structures were overlaid with transparent blueprints, detailing the inner workings of the TARDIS in extreme detail. "I haven't had use for the learning cube in centuries," The Doctor mused, a distant note in his voice.

"It's fantastic!" Mycroft exclaimed, grabbing at The Doctor's arm, disrupting whatever dark thoughts might have intruded into the alien's mind.

Smiling, The Doctor ran a hand over a section of the blueprint interface: the image responded with a musical chime and a sophisticated animation of that part's function inside the TARDIS. "Mycroft, my boy," he said, "you have your work cut out for you." He pulled away and began to bounce his way from the console room.

Mycroft felt uneasiness overtake him. "But, Doctor," he said, urgently, "you can't just leave me to learn all this, myself. I haven't got the foggiest on how to operate the TARDIS beyond initial start-up programs!"

"That's what the blueprints are for," The Doctor answered. His posture was relaxed, and his wave was casual. "All Time Lord novices learn how to cooperate with their TARDISes this way, and you're as clever as any of them. I'm hungry; I'm going to have some breakfast. I'll be back in three hours."

"But, Doctor-" Mycroft made to lunge after his teacher.

"You won't damage anything, Mycroft," The Doctor said, turning understanding eyes on his pupil. "The TARDIS is locked in child mode whenever the learning cube is engaged. You're free to press any buttons you like, as long as you leave the learning cube in." When Mycrot hesitated futher with a noise of distress, The Doctor walked back to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you trust me, Mycroft?" he asked, his eyes as deep as any sea Mycroft had ever seen.

Despite his doubts about his own ability to leave the TARDIS intact, Mycroft nodded.

"Then, trust me enough to trust you, eh?" With another bright smile and a pat on the cheek, The Doctor turned once again and left the console room.

Mycroft stood for several long moments, staring around at the alien world that had been thrust into his keeping. A series of soft chimes met his ears, and he felt himself relax. When he looked around, the chimes sang out from every corner of the control room. To Mycroft, it almost appeared that the TARDIS was reassuring him. The blueprints flickered and returned in a cheerful rainbow of colors. Suddenly, the array of outlines did not seem so intimidating.

With a straight back and a lifted chin, Mycroft cracked his knuckles and got to work.

* * *

Three hours, it turned out, was not very long at all when learning to fly a TARDIS. Mycroft tried to keep track of the time, but he became so engrossed in his studies that four, five, then six hours passed before his hunger outmatched his need to learn. The Doctor had come back when he'd promised, but Mycroft had not even noticed his presence and, with a knowning smile, the older man had left him to his learning.

Lunch was waiting in a foil wrapper when Mycroft staggered into the kitchen. He was not a picky eater in the best of times, and when he went without food for six hours, he barely even noticed what he was eating, much less whether he liked it or not. He ate two sandwiches in six bites and nearly drowned himself in four glasses of water. He slumped against the table when he was finished, his eyes shut tight as he processed all that he had learned that morning.

His hands rose and tugged at imaginary levers. His face twitched as he synchronized invisible time rotors. "Got to get those internal stabilizers up and running in seventy-two seconds," he muttered to himself, "and trigger the anti-vortex locks when we're ready to travel. I'll need three other people to help me." Mycroft looked at The Doctor as he walked into the kitchen and asked inquisitively, "Isn't a TARDIS meant to be operated by four Time Lords?"

The Doctor's face grew very still, but he did answer. "Six Time Lords, actually," The Doctor said, "but four would do. Well, obviously, one will do. But, I am a Time Lord, and you're a human, so you had better have at least three copilots if you ever need to fly the TARDIS for any length of time."

"That seems like an awful lot of companions," Mycroft said. "Won't we need to travel with five or six people all the time, then, if I'm to operate the TARDIS in an emergency?"

"I don't intend for there to be any emergencies. But, if we did have one on this brief journey, you'd be able to send us into the vortex and to land us on your own, and that's all you'll need to do. But, if you need to pinpoint a specific place and time, you'll need at least three other humans to help you."

"I see," Mycroft said. He tried not to sound disappointed by The Doctor's reassertion that he would never let Mycroft fly the TARDIS unless there was no other alternative. "Well, next time we can find others who will want to come with us, and that'll solve that problem," he said, balling up his sandwich foil.

"Next time?" The Doctor repeated.

"Yes, the next time I come with you, when I'm old enough to leave home," Mycroft said, surprised that The Doctor even had to ask.

"Oh," The Doctor said, and his tone sounded exactly like every grown-up who had given Mycroft bad news. "Yes, about that. Mycroft-"

Mycroft interrupted him on purpose. "Well, back to the TARDIS, then!" He said, feeling rude for cutting The Doctor off mid-sentence but unwilling to hear what he had to say. Whenever adults used _that_ tone, it meant that Mycroft was about to receive a crushing disappointment. In lieu of the world-changing adventure he was having with The Doctor, the ten year-old absolutely refused to hear anything that he did not want to hear from his new-found mentor.

Mycroft left the kitchen in a sprint. The Doctor was left behind to stare into the vacancy that had been occupied moments before by an eager human boy. "This is going to be buckets of fun," The Doctor muttered. It was unclear whether he spoke to himself or the TARDIS. "I teach him about Sparta, I show him how to use the TARDIS, what is he supposed to think? This-" he said, banging his head on the wall, "is going to be a disaster."


	4. Shoes, Ships, Sealing Wax

Over the next twenty-four hours, Mycroft devoted himself to learning all about the TARDIS and its console. Sometimes he worked alone, using the learning cube to guide him, and other times The Doctor lent his superior knowledge to his young charge. For his part, The Doctor mostly forced Mycroft to eat and sleep at regular intervals, dragging the young boy to the kitchen or a bedroom whenever he showed signs of weakness.

By his fourth day on the TARDIS, Mycroft felt confident enough to declare himself ready for an experimental launch. The Doctor questioned him at length about the function of each control panel on the console. Mycroft felt his nerves flutter as The Doctor observed his work with keen eyes. His fingers shook a little as he tapped out commands and toggled levers, but he didn't waver in his control.

Finally, The Doctor nodded and said, "That will do for an emergency flight. You've performed beautifully, Mycroft."

Mycroft beamed. "It was quite simple, really, once you showed me the learning cube," he said.

The Doctor arched a knowing eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Well..." Mycroft blushed. "It-it wasn't as hard as French, at least."

"Mycroft, there are very few things as hard to learn in this universe as French, or, French as the French would have you speak it." The Doctor clapped his hands together, startling his young companion. "All right, then! Off we pop. We'll give her a test drive, with you at the wheel. But, this is to be our second stop on our journey. That means we'll only have one left, after this, then it's home to Mummy. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Mycroft said, with an uncomfortable flip in his stomach. His gastrointestinal system never did accept disappointment very well.

"Well, then," The Doctor nodded, "engage the internal stabilizers and measure the vortex fluctuation."

Mycroft worked furiously to comply with The Doctor's orders, running through the beginning phase of a TARDIS flight with meticulous mental detail. The TARDIS began to hum, as if to encourage its young pilot. The Doctor patted a support strut and smiled as he watched his small companion work furiously around the console.

Mycroft only faltered once, when he realized that he did not, in fact, know where to set the coordinates for their destination. The Doctor had only shown him how to conduct an emergency escape and landing, not a planned expedition. When his hands stilled momentarily against a keyboard, his mind racing, his alien guardian stepped in and programmed a location into the navigation array. "Where are we going?" Mycroft asked distractedly, his attention once again focused on piloting the TARDIS.

"Wait a moment, and you'll find out," The Doctor answered. "We've left Earth, this time. You've made it out of your own solar system, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft said a word his mother definitely did not teach him. The Doctor tried not to chuckle. Then, the two of them were rocked back on their heels as the TARDIS jolted sharply in mid-flight. The Doctor regained his balance, but Mycroft toppled right over. The Time Lord stepped over the sprawled-out Englishman and took up the final stages of piloting as Mycroft righted himself.

"Did I do something wrong?" Mycroft said, frowning. "Why did the TARDIS move like that?"

"There's no telling," The Doctor said. He pulled hard on an anti-vortex lock and the TARDIS rolled, nearly throwing The Doctor off his feet and sliding Mycroft a few centimeters across the floor. "The TARDIS is a reliable machine, but she is rather old," The Doctor explained, over the roaring noise of the central column's rotors. "Sometimes, it takes a bit of effort to pull her out of the vortex, especially if you've picked an obscure destination. I selected some coordinates which have no major effect upon any one timeline. In other words-" The Doctor paused in his speech as the rotors quieted down and the central column stilled. Mycroft pushed himself off the floor and stood to catch his breath. "In other words," The Doctor persisted, "we've landed in a rather boring bit of space, as far as the TARDIS is concerned, and she doesn't quite know what to make of it."

"All right," Mycroft said, and resigned himself to the inevitable fact that he would never fully understand any of The Doctor's explanations.

With a smile, The Doctor turned and strode to the doors of the console room. He waited until Mycroft scrambled to his side before he said, "Welcome to the birth of Stars Alpha-Thirteen through Zeta-Seven-Seven-Nine, in the Baby Boom Galaxy." He opened the TARDIS door with a grand flourish, and Mycroft felt all the breath leave his body.

They had not landed on a planet or on a solid mass of any kind. Impossibly, The Doctor had parked the TARDIS in the middle of empty space. Nothing but blackness and patches of light greeted the young boy's eyes. Mycroft stepped toward the open door with some hesitation. He looked to The Doctor, who led by example and perched himself on the floor of the machine, with his legs dangling into the void. After another moment of instinctual resistance, Mycroft gingerly placed his bottom on the foor and scooted his own feet out into the open.

When he was not immediately sucked out to die in a vacuum, Mycroft relaxed considerably. Then, he laughed. "I can't believe we're hanging in the middle of space, and we're perfectly fine!" he cried, daring to swing his legs slightly. Below him, distant stars seemed to wink in and out of existence in time with his movement. "Doctor, how _can_ we sit out in space and not suffocate or have our guts pulled apart by negative pressure?"

"What have they been teaching you, those daft tutors of yours?" The Doctor demanded. "You've got to be the most morbid person I have ever met, and that's saying something. Heaven help us when you're older."

Mycroft was not about to be distracted. "But, Doctor, really: How can we breathe? There's no air in space!"

"And as I said before: there's no time-and-space machine on Earth, either. This is not human technology, Mycroft. The TARDIS can protect you from space, to a certain extent. Just don't step off the console room floor, and you'll be perfectly safe."

Although he tried to resist it, Mycroft could not contain the giddy giggle that bubbled out of his lips. "I bet Mummy never thinks about things like this when she tells me I've been staring into space!"

The Doctor laughed. "The stars are forming just there, to the left." He pointed. Mycroft looked in the direction of his extended finger. His eyes widened.

A vast, multi-colored spiral turned fluidly through space, pulling more colors into its center before their eyes. To Mycroft, the riot of purple, white, yellow, and red resembled a gigantic modern art painting all scrambled up. He supposed that, if a Van Gogh painting could move on its canvas and grow to thousands of times larger than its original shape, it would look something like this. Twinkles of light interspersed in the swirling clouds made the whole scene appear magical. Mycroft couldn't look away.

"Of course," The Doctor started, and Mycroft jerked, having forgotten completely about him, "stars take centuries to form. The movement of the dust and gases that form them is so slow, I'd almost call it sluggish. We're catching the tail end of the creation, here, so everything seems a little more productive than if we came in about two hundred years ago. Right now, as we sit here, over six hundred stars are being formed inside the Baby Boom Galaxy. We are currently sitting just outside the Sock-hop Nebula, which you Earthlings won't discover for another hundred and twenty years." He sighed, leaning back on his hands as he and Mycroft watched the birth of the celestial bodies.

Tentatively, afraid of being too forward-or too human, whichever would be most appropriate to describe him-Mycroft leaned sideways and rested his head gingerly against The Doctor's leather-clad shoulder. His hand moved and grabbed the black-wrapped wrist closest to him; he couldn't bring himself to take The Doctor's hand. He remained there with his eyes faced forward, avoiding The Doctor's gaze. He was British; to express this level of affection for another person, a person he had only just met five days before, was a leap of faith no one but another British person could ever understand.

It seemed that Time Lords understood. The Doctor did not comment on Mycroft's gesture, but he brought his hand up to rest gently on top of Mycroft's head. He gave another sigh, one that was long and heavy. Thus encouraged, Mycroft put more weight against his alien companion. Together, the two travelers watched as a hundred stars were born in brilliant, glowing winds.

"Thank you, Doctor," Mycroft said quietly. "It's so beautiful. I can't ever find anything as beautiful to show you."

The Doctor didn't answer for a while, but his hand smoothed the hair on Mycroft's head in a way that felt exactly like his own father's familiar gesture. He turned and gave Mycroft a smile. "Don't you worry about that, Mycroft."

"But, it's important," Mycroft insisted, turning back to watch the stars. "I wish I had something to give you that was anywhere as good as this."

"You've already given it," The Doctor said. From the tone of his voice, Mycroft knew he was not just saying that to be kind.

Being ten years old, sheltered, and safe, Mycroft couldn't understand what The Doctor meant and thought he must not be telling the whole truth. But, for a being as old, weary, and alone as The Doctor, the birth of yet more stars truly could not compare with the sight of one innocent, human child in awe of the universe.


	5. The Vorpal Blade

After their trip to the Sock Hop Nebula, Mycroft and The Doctor had flown the TARDIS into a holding pattern around a nearby planet. Mycroft had declared that he was as hungry as a lion on the African plains, to which The Doctor had replied, "Well, you'll have to wait for a lioness to feed you, then," with a teasing grin. Mycroft had withdrawn his earlier statement, but he had insisted on dinner as soon as possible. The Doctor had surprised Mycroft by making a production out of their meal, scavenging popcorn, tinned meat, Ritz crackers, pickles, and ginger beer from some dim reach of the TARDIS's pantry. Together, they had toasted to their adventure and had nearly consumed all of their ginger beer in one swig.

Sitting back in the console room with a stale Mars bar in his fist, Mycroft stared up at the ceiling of the TARDIS and considered his options. He knew he had one last opportunity to travel to any time and place he wanted. The TARDIS was his to command, for one more adventure. Although the idea of returning home left a sinking feeling throughout his body, Mycroft forced his mind to focus on the excitement of a new place-a different time, perhaps centuries in the past or future.

Mycroft was thinking so hard about a journey in the TARDIS that he failed to hear The Doctor when he entered the console room, when he asked Mycroft whether the Mars bar was still edible, and whether he was listening to the words coming out of The Doctor's mouth. He continued to devote all his mental energy to the task, even as The Doctor began to move around the console, singing, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' at the top of his lungs.

When The Doctor finally grew tired of being ignored, he swooped down and snapped his fingers directly in front of Mycroft's nose.

"Oh," Mycroft said, jerking back fom the fingers in his face, "I'm terribly sorry, Doctor, I was just preoccupied."

"So much mental control," The Doctor said, dropping down next to his young charge and crossing his legs. "You might have some latent telepathic abilities, buried somewhere in that homo sapiens brain."

"I have an excellent brain, thank you," Mycroft said without thinking, then blushed. "That's what Mummy and Daddy tell me," he said, to explain his ego. "I don't think that-it's just-"

The Doctor didn't appear to be listening to his stammerings. Instead, the alien rose and pulled Mycroft up with him. "Come on, we've got to do some maintenance on the TARDIS before we plot out our third adventure."

"Maintenance?" Mycroft asked, wrinkling his nose. "Do you mean sweeping and mopping and such?"

"Oh, no," The Doctor said sarcastically, with a theatrical shudder, "not housework! Anything but that!"

"Don't tease me, Doctor, please," Mycroft muttered. "I just don't want to waste any of the time I have on the TARDIS doing chores."

"Luckily for you, 'maintenance' on a time-and-space machine does not mean 'sweeping and mopping'. No, Mycroft, my boy-" The Doctor leaned down and popped a piece of grating loose on the console floor, then lowered himself into the hole, "you'll be learning how to keep this old thing shipshape, spic-and-span, squeaky clean-"

"Smartened up?" Mycroft added, tentatively.

The Doctor grinned. "Exactly! Now, we're talking!" Mycroft grinned too. "Well, come on, then, in you go," the alien motioned for his human companion to join him in the exposed section of the TARDIS. After a moment of sizing up the hole, Mycroft scrambled carefully into the bed of wires and circuits beneath the ship's main deck.

The two travelers worked on the TARDIS for a couple of hours. Mycroft listened in rapt attention as The Doctor instructed him on how to tune up circuits or to clean off wire. At one point, he even learned how to spit shine a piece of the TARDIS which controlled all the lights in the console.

Mycroft was having so much fun, he didn't notice the way The Doctor's eyes would lose focus from time to time as he stared at his small human charge. A deep sadness would fill the older man's eyes, but he would hide it away as quickly as a candle flame in a brisk wind whenever Mycroft looked back at him. If Mycroft caught the silence that sometimes followed his questions, he was dissuaded from pursuing the matter by a brusque pat on the back and a pile of wires shoved in his hands. The time flew by in this way, with a conflicted alien and an oblivious child side by side, their fingers buried in the vasculature of the TARDIS.

"Watch out, there, Mycroft," The Doctor said, then winced as a spark shot out of the wire ends and into his small human companion.

"Ouch!" Mycroft jerked back his hand and glared at the section of the TARDIS that had shocked his fingers. "That hurt," he said, shaking his hand and sucking the pads of his fingers into his mouth. "If the TARDIS is partly conscious, Doctor, why did it shock me?"

"Because you were about to touch two ends of wire together which shouldn't connect," The Doctor explained, then added primly, "and she's most likely offended by being called 'partly conscious'. The TARDIS is just different from you and me; she doesn't think or perceive the world the same, but she's never half-alive. We can hardly blame the TARDIS itself for being different. She certainly doesn't think you're any less conscious than she is, and she's got the power to travel through time and space."

"Well, I suppose," spluttered Mycroft. "I-well, I didn't mean to offend anyone. I just don't like having my fingers zapped, that's all."

"It's quite all right," The Doctor said, with a grin. "We forgive you."

"I didn't apologize."

"We forgive you for that, too."

"Don't be so silly, Doctor," Mycroft laughed, and The Doctor laughed with him.

As The Doctor went back to work, Mycroft cocked his head to the side and examined the room around him again. The pulsing hum of the TARDIS's main console had not sounded any different to him than another machine. After hearing The Doctor speak about it-or her-he thought he could hear a strange sort of music woven in among the noise, like a song with lyrics in a foreign language. Listening intently, Mycroft could distinguish that the song was definitely not in French, Spanish, German, or Latin. He wanted very badly to ask The Doctor if the TARDIS sang in his own language, the Time Lord language, but he couldn't bear to hurt The Doctor by bringing up what was undoubtedly a painful subject for him. Instead he said, timidly, "I think I can hear the TARDIS singing, Doctor, just underneath the hum of the time rotors."

"Can you?" The Doctor was distracted by a tangle of wires the size of a cricket ball.

"It's very strange," Mycroft went on. "I never thought that a machine could sing, but, of course, since you said it's-she's-not just a machine, it seems a little less odd. Still..." He fiddled with a part of the wiring, unsure what else to say. " We don't have singing machines. I suppose we really are far behind everyone else in the universe, aren't we? Humans, I mean?"

"Everyone in the universe is behind Time Lords, Mycroft," The Doctor said proudly, then went uncharacteristically silent. Mycroft did not disturb him as they worked, side by side. The boy could not imagine a world without other humans, and so he did not know how to talk to The Doctor when it was plain that his mind was lost in memories of his lost people.

His mind churning, Mycroft remembered the one thing Mummy did that always comforted him when he was despondent. He cleared his throat and started to recite his favorite poem. "'Twas brillig," he said, softly, "and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe."

The Doctor looked up from his work and turned to Mycroft, perplexed. "What?"

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!" Mycroft said, louder. "The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!" He illustrated the ferociousness of the Bandersnatch with his hands extended into claws and his teeth pulled back in a snarl.

"Are you reciting Jabberwocky at me?" asked The Doctor.

"He took his vorpal sword in hand, long time the manxome foe he sought!" Mycroft was now absorbed in the poem, waving his hand about as though it clutched a sword in its hand. "So rested he by the Tumtum tree, and stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came!"

The Doctor was chuckling, now, a low, continuous sound which pleased Mycroft to no end. "You've memorized the whole thing?" he asked, sounding very impressed.

Mycroft grinned at The Doctor, then struck a noble pose. "One, two! One, two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" He pantomimed the actions of the poem's hero. "He left it dead, and with its head he went galumphing back." The effort of recitation and dramatization proved to be taxing to Mycroft's stature, but he persevered.

The Doctor interrupted the boy, "'And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy."

"You've memorized it, too!" Mycroft cried out, delighted, and seized The Doctor in a hug. "No one but Mum's ever finished the poem for me, Doctor! They all think it's mad and childish, or some such rot!"

"Mad and childish, you've got me in one," The Doctor said, and hugged him back. After that interlude, there were no more grim silences as they set about their repairs, and it seemed to Mycroft that the TARDIS offered a sweeter song to accompany them as they worked.

* * *

The next day, The Doctor and Mycroft stood inside the console room once again. Mycroft had gotten up and dressed himself with considerably less enthusiasm than the previous days. Intellectually, he knew that dragging out his everyday activities would not prolong the time he had left on the TARDIS, but he could not force himself to speed up.

The Doctor had greeted him with his usual blank cheeriness, and Mycroft had done his best to act happy. Together, they had prepared the TARDIS for a journey. They did not mention the fact that this would be the last time Mycroft helped with the time and space machine's destination.

"Well, Mycroft," The Doctor eventually asked, "have you decided where you'd like to go for our last adventure?"

Mycroft nodded, then took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Where would you like to go, Doctor?"

The Doctor made a face. "Me? It doesn't matter where I want to go; I have the whole of time and space to choose from, any time I like. It's your turn."

"I know," Mycroft said, "but..." He shuffled around, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks. "Everyone's got a favorite place to visit," he explained, in a rush. "My favorite is the British Museum. I'd go there every day if Mummy would let me, and when I'm older, I'm going to live in London and get a membership and become a trustee. So, Doctor, let's go to your favorite visiting spot in all the universe."

"But, why?" The Doctor asked, still uncomprehending of his young companion's motives.

"Because it has to be fantastic!" Mycroft said, eagerly. "You can go anywhere you like! You must know exactly where to see the most splendid things in the whole universe!"

"Ah," The Doctor said, then rocked back on his heels, his hand under his chin, "I see. Yes, that would make perfect sense, wouldn't it? Very clever, Mycroft, very clever, indeed." As Mycroft beamed, his alien guardian continued, "Of course, I do have a very favorite place to visit, but it may be a bit underwhelming, all things considered."

"No, no, it can't possibly be dull!"

"No, I'm fairly certain you'll be disappointed..."

"Doctor, please!"

"Would you like to go there, then?" The Doctor said, playing stupid.

"Yes!" Mycroft flew to the TARDIS controls and braced himself on the round coral lip. "Come on, Doctor, let's go!"

The Doctor set the coordinates. Mycroft rattled off the numerous facts he had learned about the TARDIS via learning cube as he adjusted a lever and tracked their movements on one of the screens stationed around the console. The Doctor hummed in agreement when Mycroft asked for an opinion on TARDIS operations or snorted in derision if Mycroft pointed to the wrong button. In this manner, they transported themselves to the one spot in all the universe that The Doctor had determined was his "very favorite visiting place".

Mycroft was so caught up in his description of a vortex spatial striator that he had bounded out of the TARDIS and into a new location before he even realized he'd moved. Once he finished his sentence and looked around, he received quite a shock. "Doctor," he said, a note of panic in his voice, "you said I could have one more adventure before I had to go back home."

"Yes, I did," The Doctor said, coming out of the TARDIS, "and we have arrived at your adventure."

Mycroft's frown was very dark for the face of a ten year-old boy. He frowned to hide his trembling lip. "But, this is London," he said, tremulously. "Isn't it?"

The Doctor did not need to answer, for at that very moment, a bright red double-decker bus whizzed around a street corner. Mycroft could not be certain, but he had to assume that such a vehicle could only be found in one particular culture on one particular planet, and that planet was not at all thrilling or exotic or special, in his mind.

Mycroft realized that he was unspeakably angry. He turned to The Doctor with his chin tilted up to look his alien companion squarely in the eyes. "Your favorite place in all the universe is London, England?" He demanded, throwing his hands out to the side. "Out of all the beautiful, magnificent places you could go, you really want to visit London?"

"I told you it would be disappointing," The Doctor sighed.

"No! That's impossible!" Mycroft's voice shook further with embarrassment. "You're having a go at me!"

"Mycroft, I am quite serious, right now," The Doctor said. He looked down at the small, visibly upset human beside him and put an arm around the boy's shoulders, guiding him out of the street and onto the pavement. "Come, now," he said, gently, "don't be cross. I did try to warn you."

"I can't believe," Mycroft mumbled, "that anyone would choose England over the Sock Hop Nebula, or Mars, or Raxacoricofallapatorius."

"Oi, you don't want to go to Raxacoricofallapatorius, trust me." With a weak attempt at a smile, The Doctor led Mycroft into a small coffee shop and sat him down at one of the cramped little tables. "Do not move from this spot," he instructed his young charge. As Mycroft watched, he went to the counter and ordered himself a coffee without cream or sugar. The Doctor ordered hot cocoa with cream for Mycroft, and it seemed strange to the human boy that a man from another planet would somehow know exacty what a ten year old from Earth would want for a morning drink.

"Drink that, now," The Doctor commanded, as he placed the steaming cup in front of his small companion.

Mycroft had never been one to refuse sugar, and so he had sipped carefully at his cocoa while he watched The Doctor pop off the lid to his own beverage and down half of it in one gulp. Eyes wide, Mycroft waited for The Doctor to clutch his throat and run for a glass of water. After a minute in which they stared at one another over the rims of their cups, he realized that the ability to drink scaldingly hot coffee was yet another thing which placed The Doctor into the category of 'alien'.

"I'm still angry," Mycroft told him frankly, trying not to enjoy his cocoa (and failing).

"I know," The Doctor answered. He set his coffee down and scooted his chair forward, leaning closer to Mycroft. "But, I would like to have the chance to explain to you why this place is my very favorite in all the universe. Do you think you can endure this grievous injury to our friendship for that long?"

Mycroft put his nose very close to the dark brown liquid in his cup and inhaled the steam. He avoided looking at his companion as he contemplated The Doctor's offer. He knew that if he looked too long into The Doctor's sad, tired eyes, he would agree to a long-winded lecture just to make the darkness in those eyes brighten for a moment. He felt rather under duress when he looked at The Doctor's eyes, like he fancied his mother must feel when he applied his charm to crumble her resistance.

"I will consent to that propositon," Mycroft finally said, "on the condition that, if I'm still angry when you're finished, you take me to your favorite place to visit on another planet."

"Deal," The Doctor said.

Mycroft nodded. "Very well, Doctor: please tell me why London is so special."

"Well," The Doctor began, "before we start, let me point out one small matter to you, Mycroft, my boy-we're not actually in the London that you know. We are in London of the twenty-first century. Quite a few things have changed since the nineteen eighties. For one thing, this coffee shop did not exist in twentieth-century London, but it does exist in London in the year two thousand and five." The Doctor took a long sip of coffee.

"Two thousand and five," Mycroft repeated. He felt the glimmerings of interest in this new century spark up in his brain, but he rejected the excitement and remembered that he was supposed to be angry. "Well, that's not so intriguing," he huffed.

"Indeed, no," The Doctor said, and Mycroft couldn't catch any sarcasm in his voice. "But, just think: at this very moment in time, your future self could be walking these streets, dressed in a fine suit and acting very grown-up. You've got to admit, that is a bit mind-boggling."

Mycroft certainly would have admitted to being mind-boggled, had he not been set on earning himself a trip to another planet. "I do not find that the least bit interesting," he lied, and slurped his cocoa with a frosty demeanor. "Please do get to the point about your favorite place, Doctor."

"Very well." The Doctor stood and threw away his disposable cup, muttering to himself about how coffee shops who claimed to be eco-friendly should practice recycling. Mycroft ignored this aside, mostly because he had no idea what The Doctor meant by 'eco-friendly'. "Let's take a walk about London."

Mycroft carried his hot cocoa out of the shop, its warmth filling his hands. The Doctor took his other hand as though it was the natural thing for him to do. Mycroft usually objected to hand-holding with an adult, but since The Doctor had not ever really treated him like a baby who needed constant protection, he did not pull away. "The thing that you need to remember, Mycroft," he said, "is that every place in every corner of the universe is special in its own way. Earth is your home planet, so to you, it's not remarkable in the least. But, to about fifteen thousand other species of life, Earth is totally alien, foreign, and fascinating."

Mycroft stuck out his lower lip in disagreement. "But, all we've got are automobiles and microscopes and other science tools that must be ancient compared to alien technology! We can't be that different from other primitive planets."

"That is simply not true, Mycroft Holmes!" The Doctor swung their hands between them and steered Mycroft along a side street. "What makes humans and all other lifeforms in the universe unique is not their science. Our cultures are what make us so interesting to one another! It's true that I don't care a thing about your science, because it's thousands of years behind my own. I care about what makes a human, a human, and that's why I come to Earth."

Mycroft pondered this idea for a moment. "You mean, you're not here to help people, like you helped me?"

"Well," The Doctor looked uncomfortable, "I do what I can, to help other species, but there's only so much I can do without altering your timelines. And, that's not really what my own people set out to do, when we created time and space machines. Originally, we just wanted to study everyone else to see why we all acted so differently from each other."

Nodding, Mycroft took a drink from his cocoa and watched pedestrians walk past them without sparing a glance for the two companions. Mycroft shook his head in amazement. How could an alien walk the streets of London without any human the wiser? And, more importantly, how many more aliens besides The Doctor were on Earth, at this very moment? And, most important of all, were these other aliens as kind and generous as The Doctor?

The alien himself disrupted Mycroft's thoughts. "Look, there," The Doctor said, pointing to the London Eye, barely visible through the tall buildings and low clouds. "Before I came to Earth, I had never seen a ferris wheel. I couldn't even imagine what purpose the daft thing served. So, I walked over and stood for a while, observing the tourists and Londoners as they stood in the queue. It took me minutes to figure out how the ferris wheel itself worked, but I stayed and watched for hours to understand what the idea of a ferris wheel meant to you, the people of Earth."

"Well, I should think it would have been obvious," Mycroft said. "Everyone likes ferris wheels and amusement parks. They're fun."

"Yes," The Doctor said, triumphantly, "it's obvious to you, Mycroft, because you're a human from Earth. I, however, am from Gallifrey, and I had to learn what a ferris wheel should mean, just like I had to learn what bangers and mash and tea and jammy dodgers meant."

At last, Mycroft had heard something truly interesting in what The Doctor had to say. "Your planet is called Gallifrey?" he asked, then immediately wished he hadn't.  
The Doctor's expression turned pained for a moment, then went completely flat. "My planet was called Gallifrey." Mycroft did not miss the change in tense, and he moved to apologize for his thoughtless question, but his alien companion did not give him time to speak. "Gallifrey was nothing like Earth. We didn't have ferris wheels. We had lots of queues, though," he said, with a fond upturn to his lips. "Waiting in boring lines is an intergalactic pastime, I suppose."

"Doctor-" Mycroft began again, rushing to relieve the lonely alien of his obligation to continue the conversation.

"To be honest, Earth seemed rather dull to me, too, when I first landed here," The Doctor said, picking up speed again. "You had little technology, primitive medicine, and strange, illogical beliefs. But, I soon realized that I was being terribly unfair to humans."

"Why?" asked Mycroft.

In answer, The Doctor pulled Mycroft into an empty doorway and tipped his head toward a portion of city block across the street. When Mycroft followed his nod, he saw a ragged woman huddled against a shadowed alcove, wrapped in a too-big overcoat with a cigarette stuck between two fingers. The way she sucked in a breath to inhale smoke accentuated her thin face, overbright eyes, and sharp cheekbones. As Mycroft watched, another woman walked up to the alcove and crouched before the ragged lady. This woman had clean trousers and neat hair. She was pleasantly round and carried a modest handbag.

The two women spoke for a short while, then the well-dressed lady reached into her handbag and offered the rough woman a wrapped sandwich and a bag of crisps. The rough woman accepted the food with exhausted gratitude, and the well-dressed lady went on her way. As far as Mycroft could tell, this was the only sight The Doctor had pointed out to him.

Puzzled, Mycroft looked up at his alien companion. "What's so peculiar about those ladies, Doctor? They're just normal humans, aren't they?"

The Doctor grinned widely and gave Mycroft a spontaneous hug. "Quite right, Mycroft," he said, in a voice like sunshine. "Quite right." Then, with a laugh, he seized Mycroft's hand and took off down the street. "Come on, then, you human, let's go see London!"

Mycroft had so much fun exploring London with The Doctor that he nearly forgot about his desire to see one more planet before he returned home. The Doctor provided all sorts of information about the city that no earthling would have thought to share, including facts about historical events that were too detailed to be anything but personal experience.

The two companions traveled throughout the city, to places Mycroft had never seen. He ate fish and chips and collected tourist pamphlets. He gave change to a musician who had staked out a street corner on which to busk. He dragged The Doctor into museums and then was dragged into art galleries by The Doctor. And, all the while, The Doctor pointed out the many incredible things human beings could do.

Aside from random Earth facts, The Doctor began to share comparisons between Earth and his own planet, Gallifrey. He did not elaborate on his comments, but he painted an adeqaute picture with his few words. Mycroft listened closely and did not interrupt, afraid to draw attention to the fact that he was listening. The Doctor seemed to be talking to himself, at times, and Mycroft did not want to disturb the illusion.

Afternoon passed into evening before The Doctor forced Mycroft to return to the TARDIS. The ten year-old hid his yawns behind his hand and protested the end of their adventure, but his objections were fondly ignored. "I haven't decided if I'm still angry," Mycroft said, voice thick with drowsiness.

"You can tell me tomorrow," The Doctor said. His voice was soft and his hands were gentle as he guided Mycroft to his room. In his sleepy state, Mycroft wondered how much practice The Doctor had at putting children to bed, for he seemed very good at it.

Once Mycroft was settled, The Doctor made to pull away, but Mycroft reached out and took his hand. "Good night, Doctor," Mycroft mumbled, and he squeezed The Doctor's hand as he snuggled into his bed.

There was a moment of silence, then The Doctor said, "Good night, Mycroft," and squeezed back. Mycroft slipped off to sleep with the feel of another hand smoothing his hair back in a strangely human gesture.


	6. Rule 42

The next morning, Mycroft arrived at the console room early. He had set out a plan in his mind to delay his homeward departure by at least one more adventure. If he could think of enough reasons to stay and spew them out in a small amount of time, he thought he might be able to force The Doctor to acquiesce to his wishes out of pure misunderstanding. He marched to the console, ready to spring his designs upon The Doctor as quickly as possible to confuse him and make him agree before he knew what was happening.

Predictably, The Doctor was ahead of Mycroft. He had his hands on the console, programming their destination into the navigation array before Mycroft could say "good morning." By the time the boy had come all the way into the room, he had touched the TARDIS down in the same location from which they had departed six days before. "There we are," The Doctor said, "a quiet English home in the mid nineteen eighties, home to a very clever boy and his family."

The reality of his situation clung to Mycroft and made all the brilliant plans in his head fade into oblivion. He shut his eyes tightly against the itchiness that threatened to gather there. "Doctor," he said, "can't we have just one more adventure, please?"

"We had a deal, Mycroft," The Doctor reminded him.

"I know," Mycroft said, "and I did have fun in London, really. But, I just can't go back home after seeing all this. I want to have at least one more adventure."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." The Doctor had not looked at Mycroft once duing this exchange. Mycroft watched him as he pulled a lever on the console and adjusted a screen's position, ostensbily taking no notice of the small human standing across from him.

For a moment, Mycroft had to wonder whether The Doctor was acting distant because he had grown tired of Mycroft's company and wanted him off the TARDIS as soon as possible. Maybe Time Lords could only stand irritating human children for so long before they had to evict them from their time and space machines. This thought brought a deep pang to his chest, and he blinked hard to stop his eyes from their attempt to relieve his emotions through tears. He clenched his fists and commanded his body to obey him, but his stern internal orders were not received. His throat closed up and his eyes won out over his shame. He swallowed hard, then, to his eternal embarrassment, he let out a tiny little hiccup which turned into a soft sobbing noise.

The Doctor's head shot up at that small sound. At the sight of a tearful Mycroft trying very hard not to cry, he rushed around the console and took Mycroft's face between his hands. "There, now," he said, sounding lost, "if I could change the way things have to happen, I would, but I know that you have to leave the TARDIS today, after just three adventures."

Mycroft stopped resisting and crumpled into a sobbing mess, clinging to The Doctor's leather jacket while his alien guardian wiped at the tears on Mycroft's face. "I w-want to stay h-here with you," he said, gasping out the words. "I don't c-care if we go on any m-more adventures, I just want to st-stay with you, D-doctor."

"And I want you to stay, too," The Doctor said, "but what about your family, Mycroft? Your father and mother, and your little brother, the one you told me so much about?"

"No one will ever understand what's it's like being so clever," Mycroft wailed, "n-not like you, Doctor! I'll be the only cl-clever one for my whole life, without you!"

"What did I say about being clever? That's not all there is to life. You've got to learn to get along with the not-so-clever people, too, and I would not be doing you any favors by keeping you with me."

Shaking his head, Mycroft cried harder, gripping The Doctor's clothes tight enough to constrict the mobility of the man wearing them. The Doctor let him cry for a few minutes, then he took him by the shoulders and pulled him back to meet his gaze.

"That's enough of that, Mycroft," The Doctor said, firmly. "Your mum and dad would be heartbroken if they saw how much you didn't want to go back to them. You musn't forget how much they love you, even if they aren't as brilliant as you are."

Mycroft saw the sense in The Doctor's words. He gulped a couple of times, and by the fourth intake of air, he had stopped sobbing. He still could not stop the tears, however. "I do love Mummy and Daddy," he said, at last, "and I suppose I love Sherlock, too, even if he's a stupid baby and he ruins all my experiments."

"There," The Doctor nodded, "that's progress."

"And I don't want to leave them forever." A brilliant thought came into Mycroft's head, and he asked hopefully, "Couldn't we bring them into the TARDIS, too, Doctor? I promise I won't let Sherlock destroy things."

"That's really out of the question," The Doctor said. "Your place is here, on Earth. You must be clever and brave, Mycroft, like King Leonidas. I don't know why you can't come with me; I just know that you can't. You must remain here with your family and do as much for this world as you can." He gave Mycroft a genuine smile. "All things considered, that isn't so bad a life, is it?"

Mycroft frowned. "It sounds ghastly."

"You're ten years old," The Doctor chuckled. "Give it time; it won't sound so ghastly in a few years."

"Do you mean I should become an ambassador, or something?" Mycroft lifted his head. "Oh, how about a detective? That doesn't sound too boring."

"I can't tell you how to make a difference in the world," The Doctor said, "but I do know that you will do it, somehow." He clapped his hands on Mycroft's shoulders. "And you'll be brilliant at it, whatever you do."

Mycroft couldn't resist just one more try. "You're sure I can't come with you, even when I'm older?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, poised to reply, but he closed it again and stood silenty for a moment, hands on hips. Finally, he said, "Why don't I give you something as a promise that we'll meet again?" At Mycroft's nod, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a simple, ordinary-looking key. He fetched a string from his pocket and looped the key on it like a necklace, then he put it into Mycroft's hand. "This is a key to the TARDIS," The Doctor said, as he closed Mycroft's fingers around the small metal object. "I only give a key to someone I trust implicitly. If I give a friend a key to my TARDIS, to all intents and purposes, I'm giving them a key to my own life and future. Do you think you can bear that responsibility, Mycroft?"

Staring down at the plain, steel key that rested so lightly in his palm, Mycroft felt its true weight in his heart. In his short life, he had never been entrusted with something so precious, and if he had been just a little older, he would have realized that he would never be again. Slighty breathless, he said, "Yes, Doctor, yes: I'll guard it with my life."

"That is not necessary," The Doctor said. "Just guard it with everything short of that." Then, with a wink, he strode to the TARDIS doors and pushed them open. Mycroft could hear the sound of the pouring rain on the oustide of the time and space machine. "Here we are, then, lad! Back home, and before lunch, too."

Slipping the key around his neck, Mycroft walked over to the TARDIS doors. Sure enough, the world looked just as it had been six days ago, when he had run for his life from the Onkaku. The only change was that the TARDIS had been parked much closer to his house, this time. "Are the Onkaku gone?" Mycroft asked apprehensively.

"Oh, yes," The Doctor said, with an indecipherable look. "They've gone to find another target. You're perfectly safe, for now."

Mycroft took a deep breath and shook himself thoroughly. He wrapped the TARDIS key in his hand, its solid outline pressed against his skin for reassurance. "Thank you for everything, Doctor," he said, voice wavering. "I expect our holidays to Switzerland will look very dull, now, but I wouldn't trade seeing the Sock Hop Nebula for anything."

"Oi, don't turn your nose up at Switzerland. Great mountains, in Switzerland." The Doctor's voice sounded funny, too, but Mycroft couldn't pinpoint why. He cleared his throat and nodded at the doorway. "Well, off you go, Mycroft. Take care. Watch out for your little brother. Don't give your mummy too much grief."

"You take care, as well, Doctor." Mycroft moved to leave. On a last impulse, he turned and gave The Doctor a fierce hug. He committed his superior mind to the memorization of the feel of The Doctor's fine green jumper and to the singular smell of The Doctor's skin: a faint, lingering smell that reminded Mycroft of pleasantly-burned toast and fine shoe polish. He pressed his face to The Doctor's chest. With his body so close to The Doctor's own, he eventually noticed that The Doctor had rested his own face on top of Mycroft's head. Mycroft's intuition told him that The Doctor was imprinting Mycroft into his own sense memory.

"All right," The Doctor said. "No more drawn-out goodbye. Off you get, Mycroft Holmes, and have a fantastic life."

"Goodbye, Doctor!" As Mycroft rushed out of the TARDIS, he whispered to himself, "Goodbye, for now."

There was a loud click as the TARDIS doors closed. Mycroft spun around to face the time and space machine as it emitted its distinctive wailing hum and faded away.

"There you are!" Mummy's voice called out from the house behind him. "What are you doing, you silly boy, it's time for lunch! And, it's pouring rain, to boot! And where the dickens is your macintosh?"

* * *

Mycroft never spoke of his time with The Doctor to anyone, not even to Sherlock when he grew to be a companion to his older brother. He knew that his parents would think his experiences were simply a particularly rich fabrication of his imagination, a wonder tale he had invented in his lonely childhood years. He suspected that Sherlock would have believed him, but he had never known how to explain to his baby brother some of the harsher realities of The Doctor's life. He had not dreamed of only telling Sherlock half of the truth. The Doctor had not spared Mycroft of any truth when he had been a child, and Mycroft would not cheapen what he had learned from The Doctor's words by taming them to a more age appropriate level.

Throughout his preteen and adolescent years, Mycroft kept the TARDIS key on his person at all times. He tucked it into his billfold when he wore regular clothes; when he went swimming, he would wrap its string around his wrist and bind it close to his skin. At times, the key would grow unbearably hot, and he would nearly drop it when he pulled it quickly out of his pocket. Other times, the strange metal artifact would shiver and sing, almost as though it was a tiny version of the large machine to which it belonged. When these phenomena occurred, Mycroft concealed the key and kept a strict poker face through whatever sensation struck him. He honored his solemn promise to The Doctor: he guarded the secrets of the key as closely as he would later guard the secrets of the British Nation.

Time passed for the Holmes family as it does for all humans, slowly, but with bursts of speed that seemed as though years flew past before they even realized they were gone. Sherlock developed in mind and body past any expectations Mycroft had ever had. Mummy received her doctorate and Daddy was promoted. Life trundled forward at a predictable pace. Their house was filled with graceful music, cheery laughter, angry shouts, and peaceful silence.

To the untrained eye, Mycroft himself continued on as he always did, with calm calculations and supreme indifference to change. No one observed him in his room in the depths of night, when he would lie on his bed and mentally trace a familiar pattern of stars onto the ceiling. No one saw him shove his upstairs bedroom window open to lean out and gaze at the sky, even when winter winds blew a chill through his dressing gown. Mycroft made sure that no one ever saw him draw out his special key and hold it up to the night, his eyes full of hope and pain and wanderlust. Likewise, he was glad there was no one to watch him draw back into his room every night, bitterly disappointed, only to repeat the same futile gestures the very next day.

Time passed for Mycroft, and he began to repress the hopeful gestures. He occupied his mind with the realities of Earth life, such as politics and science. He worked at his education so that he would fall into bed at night, too exhausted to waste time watching the sky. As he and his world grew older, his optimism dimished. He told himself that he was no longer a child and couldn't indulge in the desire to separate from Earth.

For the majority of Mycroft's days, this strategy of dimmed hopes was quite effective. But, on the days when the news of violence and depravity threatened to sicken his spirit to death, he could not stop himself from going to the window to lean out and hold his key up to the stars.


	7. A Bumped Head and A Bruised Soul

"Well, brother mine," Mycroft said, barely keeping his voice at a respectable indoor volume, "I think I've been insulted enough for one visit, don't you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock answered back, "I've got about fifteen more deductions left that are sure to curl your toes. Want to wait around for the big finish?"

Mycroft carefully told Sherlock what he could do with his fifteen final deductions and stalked out of the dormitory room, his umbrella swinging jerkily from his arm as he walked. There was no one around to stare as he passed through the hallway and took a side door out into the rainy afternoon.

Once outside, Mycroft pulled the door shut and leaned against the old stone wall of the dormitory. He took several deep, steadying breaths, then fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His lighter was easier to locate, as it was the only item in his left breast pocket. He put flame to fag and felt the familiar satisfaction as the tip of the tobacco burnt bright orange and blue. As smoke drifted up to his nostrils, he put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

As he exhaled, he tried to force the agitation at his younger brother from his mind. Many years had gone by since Sherlock had destroyed his card houses, but the spirit of that mischief still remained in his brother's personality. Sherlock was twenty-three and brilliant-just as Mummy had always predicted-and he was also the most insufferable person Mycroft had ever had the dubious pleasure to meet.

Sherlock felt that his days were best spent reading the people around him like books and spewing out information about them at the most inconvenient times. Unlike Mycroft, he had not managed to integrate into the mindless masses. People didn't like Sherlock, and Sherlock didn't seem to like people. Although he had gone to university at their parents' behest, he had sworn not to enjoy it.

Mycroft thought he rather enjoyed it too much, or one side of it: the cocaine and heroin side of it. When he had learned of his brother's _extracurricular activities _inside the chemistry lab, it had taken all his self-control not to storm in and beat his idiotic brother to within an inch of his life. Instead, he had calmly driven himself to Sherlock's school, had cornered Sherlock in his dormitory, and had demanded to know why Sherlock was trying to ruin his life with drugs.

The two brothers had engaged in one of the most understated rows in the history of Britain. Neither raised their voice more than a few decibels, but their words were more potent than their noise. By the time Mycroft had shown himself out, they had both pointed out each other's many physical shortcomings, Sherlock had made several accurate but embarrassing deductions about Mycroft's recent food habits, and Mycroft had told Sherlock that he was a disgrace who would never amount to anything more than a fraction of his true potential and would most likely end up begging for spare change on street corners in London.

Mycroft brought himself to the present with a deep draw on his cigarette. He tilted his head back and watched wisps of smoke dissipate into the rain that fell with increasing intensity. Since he was protected by the eaves of the stately old dormitory, Mycroft did not bother to open his umbrella. He stared out into the rain and wondered how he had let his brother slip so far away from him. Sadness quickly filled up the places in his feelings where anger had so recently sat. The rain grew stronger, and Mycroft's melancholy deepened.

His contemplation was interrupted by a sound he had hoped to never hear again. It was a low, constant humming sound, and it emanated from somewhere around the copse of trees that grew close to the dormitory. The sound resembled nothing so much as a large group of bees, but to Mycroft, it was the sound of dread. He straightened slowly and dropped his cigarette. His heart threatened to shove itself into his esophagus. His pulse beat against his temples and his chest.

"Oh, dear lord," Mycroft said, trying to sound unaffected, "please tell me you're not the Onkaku."

The only answer he received from the trees was an increase in the humming sound. As he listened, Mycroft heard another hum start up from the bushes against the side of the dormitory.

"I should have known it had nothing to do with Mummy's azaleas," Mycroft told himself, half hysterical. "It's got everything to do with me. For some reason, they want a chubby genius child they found in the English countryside." He tensed as the humming tripled, just as it did when he was ten years old in his mother's garden. "Well, at least I know I truly am special," Mycroft said, and ran around the side of the building in a dead sprint.

Mycroft's athletic ability had improved with age, but not enough to give him any distance between himself and the Onkaku. The humming followed him and gained on him. A shiver overtook him as he ran, partly due to the rain but mostly due to the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He saw the main doorway to the dormitory and nearly fainted with relief. If he could just make it through the door, the threshold would prevent his hunters from following him.

The Onkaku must have known what Mycroft planned to do, for their humming closed in even more. To Mycroft, it sounded as though one of the aliens was a mere half a meter behind him. He commanded his legs to carry him faster, but a communication error seemed to occur between his brain and his limbs. The humming filled his ears, drowning out his gasping breaths and his racing pulse. He was centimeters away from the door now, but he was not going to escape. His mind returned to his parting words to Sherlock. He felt a terrible regret that the very last words he would ever speak to his brother were harsh and rude.

Suddenly, the door to the dormitory flew open. A hand reached out and seized Mycroft by the collar, yanking him inside. Mycroft fell into an undignified heap on the floor, retching from the exertion of running and from the terror of nearly being eaten by aliens. He stared up at the ceiling and managed to gain control of himself.

Outside, the humming rose to an unbearable pitch, like an angry swarm of wasps shut out of their nest. Gradually, the noise died away. Mycroft felt curiosity rise up in him. He tilted his head as he looked at the rafters of the ceiling. "How did you know they were after me? Moreover, how do you know they exist?" Mycroft asked his unknown savior, still lying spread-eagle on the floor.

"I suppose I'm just clever like that." The voice that answered him was one from his childhood dreams. Mycroft wasted no time in pulling himself up to locate the source of that incongruous, impossible accent.

The man that stood before him wore black denim, a purple shirt, and a simple, black leather jacket. He looked exactly the same as the last time Mycroft had seen him, twenty years before. But, on second glance, Mycroft thought that he looked even more worn. "Don't worry," the man said. "The Onkaku are psychic receptive and can only hunt their prey in open spaces without doorways. This place has a threshold. They can't cross it without being invited in."

"Doctor," Mycroft breathed.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Hello, there. Have we met?"

Mycroft sat back as if struck. "Doctor," he managed to say, "don't you remember me?" The Doctor's blank look spoke volumes. Mycroft shook his head. "But, you must remember me! I've spent years-" He stopped mid-sentence as another thought interrupted him. "Oh, but of course," he said, standing, "of course! You haven't met me, yet! This is our first meeting, in your timeline!"

The Doctor did not look impressed. He began to move toward the door. "Sorry, but I haven't got much time to talk. The Onkaku have shifted targets and I've got to-"

Mycroft knew he had very little time to capture The Doctor's attention. He began to speak quickly. "You're a Time Lord. You fought in a great war, a war to end all wars, and you were forced to kill not only your enemies, but your own people."

Mycroft could not have shocked The Doctor more than if he had declared that the two of them had been legally wedded. The color drained from his face and he took a step back. Mycroft thought that the Time Lord might faint.

Just as Mycroft moved to catch him should he fall, The Doctor straightened and turned dark eyes onto his companion. "How could you possibly know that?" he demanded, almost angrily.

"I know it because you told me that very thing, twenty years ago," Mycroft said.

"No," The Doctor said, "I wouldn't have. I never speak of it."

"I was ten years old when I met you. That's when the Onkaku first began to stalk me. You saved me from them, and then you took me aboard the TARDIS for a period of six days."

The Doctor actually laughed in disbelief. "You're joking, aren't you? I would never take a ten year-old from Earth on board the TARDIS. That's kidnapping!"

"You took me to see the battle of Thermopylae," Mycroft continued relentlessly, "and I cried. You told me, 'Clever people do save the world. If they're a good clever person, they do what King Leonidas did and use that cleverness to others' advantage. They realize that they can't fix every problem, and they accept that. Then they do their best to change what they can.' Then, I asked you when you'd realized that you couldn't fix all the world's problems, and you said, 'I was around eight hundred and ninety, although particular age doesn't matter. I was in a war very much like your World War Two-it was a war to end all wars, to be certain. For a while, we Time Lords thought, 'Oh, sure, we have nothing to fear from this war. We're invincible. Here's a word of advice, Mycroft: if anyone ever tells you they're invincible, you can tell them about the Time Lords.'"

The Doctor held up a hand. "Stop." His face looked tight, as though there wasn't enough skin to pad it comfortably. "Don't-just, don't." The hand that he held aloft visibly trembled.

Something occurred to Mycroft, and he immediately cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. "Oh, Doctor," he said, quietly, "This war wasn't a thing of the distant past, was it?"

To Mycroft's dismay, The Doctor answered, "For me, it happened five years ago." His mouth twisted. "But, it's all a matter of perspective, I suppose."

Mycroft looked away. "You told me you were much older than a human. I just assumed this had all happened ages ago." He sighed. "I'm a stupid man. I'm a very, very stupid man."

"Rubbish," The Doctor said. "I don't take stupid companions."

Mycroft's smile was somewhat bitter. "I was a very temporary companion. After ancient Greece, you took me to the Sock-hop Nebula to see the birth of stars Alpha-thirteen through Zeta-Seven-Seven-Nine, in the Baby Boom Galaxy."

"I have good taste, apparently," The Doctor said dryly.

"Then, you took me to London, in the year two thousand and five. You bought me hot cocoa and took me around the city. And, after that, you took me home." Mycroft leaned his head back, gathering patience. "I asked you to come back for me when I was old enough to leave home-I begged you not to leave me to an ordinary, boring human life. You told me that I belonged here, on Earth, making a difference in the lives of every person in Britain. You even told me to think about my mother and father and-" he felt a shocking tightness in his throat as he said his brother's name, "Sherlock, my younger brother. 'You must be clever and brave, Mycroft, like King Leonidas', were some of the last words you said to me, and for _all these years_, Doctor-"

Mycroft broke off again, embarrassed by the emotion in his voice. For his part, The Doctor looked disturbed. "You've spent your whole life waiting for me to come back for you?" he asked, crystalline blue eyes wide. "How long have you waited?"

"Twenty years," Mycroft said.

The Doctor stood still, apparently deep in thought. His eyes roamed over Mycroft. Mycroft knew what most people saw when they looked at him: a young man of average appearance, dapper clothing, and bored mien. Standing before the one-time mentor that had changed his life, he could not help feeling like a fat, inattentive ten year-old boy once again. He shifted from side to side, then cleared his throat. "I've secured a position in the government," he said, and The Doctor's eyes focused on his face. "It's a fairly minor role, for now. They offered me a place in MI6, but honestly, the James Bond act is not my forte. I can't be expected to run around in Siberia when there are things to do here in England."

"You're an armchair sort of man, then?" asked The Doctor. Mycroft could not tell whether he heard a hint of disdain in the alien's voice.

"If you like," Mycroft said. He was unwilling to explain why he had never found much appeal in travelling near or far-how every destination on Earth sounded flat and dull compared to all of time and space-because it would make him sound terribly attached. Instead, he straightened his coat and continued, "I've always wanted to join you, once again, in the TARDIS. If I could go anywhere and travel to any time, I would certainly have more of an appetite for adventure."

"Most of my friends do," The Doctor said. "But, unfortunately, I can't bring you with me."

The Doctor's words threatened to crush Mycroft's hope into dust. He managed not to sink to the ground in despair, but only just. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because, currently, I'm taking no passengers," The Doctor said. "And, secondly, I've got to follow those Onkaku to their new victim, and you'd only be in my way."

"No, I wouldn't." Again, Mycroft barely forced himself not to shout in indignation. "I know how to fly the TARDIS. I would only be an asset to you."

"Sorry? I taught you to fly the TARDIS when you were ten years old?" It was clear that The Doctor found the entire situation to be improbable, but Mycroft knew the alien could not deny the information Mycroft had shared about their time together.

"Yes, you did, because I asked to learn how, repeatedly." Mycroft reached into his back pocket and pulled out his handsome leather billfold. He flipped open the flap and slid the small metal object that rested in its pocket into his hand. "Look," he showed the object to The Doctor, "you even gave me a key, as a promise to return some day."

Without asking for permission, The Doctor strode over and took the key, holding it up to his face for verification. "That's genuine, no doubt," he said, and gave the billfold back. "What's your name?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Well, Mycroft Holmes, it looks like we've got ourselves into a very interesting temporal pattern. I have met people decades after they've met me, but their memories of the incident are hardly ever this detailed." The Doctor looked closely at Mycroft again. "Do you have a photographic memory?"

"It hardly matters, does it?" Mycroft said, somewhat impatiently. "I'm one of the most intelligent people on this planet, and I'm only being honest when I say that. I remember almost everything from that brief stay on the TARDIS, and it's a good thing I did, because it's clear that you're going to need those details when you go back in time to save me from the Onkaku."

The Doctor hummed in agreement, his hand on his chin. "All right," he said at last, "as soon as I've finished with their new target, I'll go back and rescue you from them." He made to leave the dormitory.

"You're taking me with you, aren't you?" Mycroft asked. He did not even try to sound like he was doing anything but begging. "Doctor, please: I've waited my whole life!"

"No, sorry," The Doctor said, his hand on the door handle, "I can't, it's impossible."

"I don't believe you," Mycroft said, and rushed to stand between his alien mentor and the door.

The Doctor sighed heavily. "Look, your timelines are set around Earth! I can't whisk you away to parts unknown without disrupting the fate of the world!"

"Then just take me for a little while," Mycroft bargained, "for a week, or a month, and drop me back here when we're done! What harm will that do, Doctor, after I've waited for you for twenty years?"

"I have no idea," The Doctor said grimly, "which is why you're not going. Now, stand aside, Mycroft."

"No."

"Mycroft." The Doctor's words became a compulsion all their own. "Stand. Aside."

Mycroft pushed against the desire to obey and stood his ground. "I'm not a child anymore," he said. "You can't bewilder me with cryptic statements and expect me to follow along."

"You humans," The Doctor muttered, "you're all children, as far as I'm concerned, and you behave about as much."

Mycroft's eyes blazed. "I need answers, Doctor!"

"I don't have answers, Mycroft!" The Doctor snapped back. "And I rarely ever do. If you did travel with me, that's something you would learn very quickly. All I know is that you must stay here, with your family, and become a part of your government. I sense the significance of your presence in Britain now, and I must have sensed it when you were ten. Or, I will sense it when you were ten, however you want to look at it."

Mycroft was very nearly at his wits' end, genius though he was. This time, he did shout. "But, why?" His voice echoed off the dormitory ceiling. "My family doesn't need me! No one needs me!"

The Doctor looked as if Mycroft had uttered a profanity during mass. "Mycroft Holmes," he said, more seriously than he had said anything thus far, "that is the biggest lie that any creature in the universe can tell itself. You should never say that again. It's a horrible lie."

"It's true," Mycroft insisted. He had not said it out of self-pity; he merely stated what he perceived to be a fact. "I'm only worth something to anyone for my cleverness, Doctor, and that's a poor recommendation for a meaningful life. If I go with you, at least I'll provide you with companionship."

"That's rubbish, too," The Doctor said. "There's more to a man than his cleverness, thank goodness. Some of us would be in dire straits, if that were true."

Mycroft laughed hollowly. "That's almost exactly what you told me, just before you left me back at home."

"All right," The Doctor said, with his arms crossed, "answer me this: what's your job, in the government?"

"I can hardly tell you that, Doctor: it's classified information."

"So, it's important enough to be classified, is it?"

"I-I suppose," Mycroft conceded.

"Fantastic," The Doctor said. "Now, tell me this: How many times have you helped your family in these twenty years, through cleverness or not?"

"I don't know," Mycroft said peevishly, "how can you expect me to keep a log going?"

"So, there have been enough times that you can't remember them all, haven't there? According to your timelines, Mycroft, you're going to keep on weaving all these small acts of service into the very fabric of time and space. How do you expect me to sort through all these instances and find out which ones occurred before this meeting, and which ones occurred after it? Even for a Time Lord, that's impossible."

Mycroft felt his heart turn in his chest. "What are you saying, Doctor?"

For the first time in their encounter, The Doctor's face softened. He stepped forward and put his hand on Mycroft's shoulder. The familiar sensation twisted the knife of rejection deeper into Mycroft's emotional wound. "I'm sorry, Mycroft Holmes," The Doctor said, his voice almost as gentle as it had been twenty years before. "You are just not meant to travel the stars."

"Don't say that," Mycroft pleaded, "oh, no, please, don't say that. Give me some hope that you'll come back, at least before I'm old and bed-ridden."

"I can't say one way or another." From The Doctor's tone, Mycroft knew that was all the hope the alien could give him. "Now, really, I have to get back to the TARDIS." When there was no response from his newfound human friend, he squeezed his shoulder ever so slightly. "Stand aside, Mycroft."

Mycroft thought it would kill him to do it. Everything he had ever wanted in his life was mere meters away. The key in his billfold was singing the song echoed by the TARDIS, a gateway to endless adventure parked just outside the dormitory. The Doctor himself had appeared before him, as vibrant and intelligent as he had been two decades before. Surely, he would die the moment he allowed this childhood fantasy to slip from his hands.

For the sake of the Earth and mankind-for his mother, father, and brother-Mycroft Holmes made the hardest decision of his life. He stepped out of The Doctor's way. "I am coming with you," he said, voice low with the effort of restraint. "One day, Doctor, I will use this key to open the TARDIS, and you shall never be rid of me."

The Doctor passed him quickly, and Mycroft knew he was afraid that this strange, irrational human would change his mind and cling to him out of childish desperation. As he crossed the threshold of the dormitory, the Time Lord looked back at Mycroft. The edges of his mouth lifted in the shadow of a future smile.

"You know, Mycroft Holmes," The Doctor said, "if that day comes, I don't believe I'll mind very much if I shan't."

Thunder rolled, rain fell, and Mycroft watched as The Doctor sprinted into the afternoon storm. He did not feel himself falling until he felt the hard stone floor beneath his rear end. He looked down, surprised to see his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Once he became aware of his position, he also became aware of the way his breath had begun to race. He felt his head swim.

There was a clatter behind him. "What the devil are you doing, Mycroft?" The familiar voice of his younger brother said, sounding almost alarmed. "And why did you go out in the storm? Surely you're not that addicted to nicotene? You can't be, I'd have deduced it the moment I saw you."

Mycroft put his head down over his knees. In a few moments, he had regained control of his lungs. He raised himself off the floor and faced Sherlock with a weak smile. "I'm all right," he said. "I just had a bit of asthma and took a moment to compose myself."

"Of course you're all right," Sherlock said, as if that should have been obvious. "You're always all right. You're just insufferable, too."

"I suppose," Mycroft said. He looked back out into the rain. He could see no trace of the world he had just sacrificed in the name of Earth. However, he thought he could hear, through the rain and thunder, the faint whirring hum of a blue box as it transported its pilot to a new, thrilling adventure.

FIN

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that's all for now! This is undoubtedly the quickest I have ever uploaded an entire story, and that's because (unlike most of my stories) I churned this baby out in less than two months! Thanks for reading! I hope you reviewed each chapter, but that would be expecting a lot from my dear friends and readers! **

**Incidentals: You may have noticed that the chapter headings are a little strange. They're all based off quotes from Lewis Carroll books, mostly 'Alice in Wonderland.' Obviously, I also included an entire excerpt from Carroll's most famous work; the poem "Jabberwocky" is absolute nonsense, and it's brilliant, and I think The Doctor would know it by heart. **

**A Mycroft developmental age versus characterization analysis: Yes, I do think Mycroft is believably written in this fic. Mycroft is supposed to be a genius, or at least extremely precocious. I tried to preserve his obvious intelligence along with his childishness. And, in case you're wondering, it is possible for a ten year-old to memorize "Jabberwocky". My brother and I memorized an entire chapter from The Bible when I was eleven and he was twelve. :) Just a little unnecessary justification at the end of my fic! XD **

**Again, thanks for your time and attention! Allons-y!**


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